Solo Travel Snapshots in Vietnam: Not Sweating the Small Stuff in Cat Ba

This is my Solo Travel Snapshots in Vietnam Series.

I spent 33 days in Vietnam. Each day brought something different–a different experience or surprising thought or new challenge. I cannot possibly share them all, and even if I did, so much would fall short. Instead of sharing my day-to-day everyday, I want to capture the essence of my Vietnam experience in several vivid snapshots. This series will consist of those solo travel snapshots that encapsulate many repeat experiences in Vietnam and throughout Southeast Asia.

This is #4.

Solo Travel Snapshots in Vietnam

The comedic feeling of yet another thing going wrong, plus needing to relinquish control
The bonds of travelers
The peace and serenity of a solo morning exploration
Remembering not to sweat the small stuff–or the sweaty stuff
Plastic toddler tables = the best food

June 18-20

My first night on Cat Ba Island, I climb the steep hill out of town, walking on the road until I come to a turnoff. I am looking for the sunset spot I’d read about: Cannon Fort.

An old military base, it is the highest spot around and supposedly offers views in every direction–perfect for watching the sun disappear.

As I reach the top of the side road, a few people zoom by me on motorbikes, presumably seeking the same viewpoint. Minutes later I see them again, off the bikes and milling about a closed gate. Oh no.

Oh no because the gate is closed. But also oh no because I’ve been walking for about 15 minutes uphill which means that I already look like I just climbed out of the shower with my clothes on. I could be melting.

I pull out my headband and use it sop up my face. It does very little good. The sweat continues to pour out. That’s what 95 degrees and 95% humidity looks like. Last week, when I was in Hanoi, the Apple Weather app said it felt like it was 111 degrees.

I’m feeling it now.

Oh well. There’s only so much I can do.

I go up to the others and we talk about the view point. They’d read, like I had, that a local often hangs out here and “charges” people for entry, but we don’t see anyone else. We only see big signs about not trespassing and how it is military property. Eek.

I don’t particularly want to get shot in Vietnam.

The four others, all Brits, and I conference for a bit and then decide to take a narrow, definitely unofficial, trail that goes in the opposite direction. We put on our metaphorical explorer hats.

After a short climb in the dense jungle-like forest, we emerge from the trees. A cell tower rises above us. We are probably also trespassing here, but we move on a little further, climb up some rocks, and find another place to watch the sunset.

There is the slightest breeze, which is just what I need to start air-drying. Of course, as soon as the sun starts casting vibrant colors into the sky, I immediately forget about the sweat beading on my temples and am simply amazed to be right here, right now. Sometimes the world just punches you in the gut and you realize exactly how amazing it is and how lucky you are.

Sitting there fifty feet away from a cell phone tower with four people whose names I have already forgotten, I get punched.

…

I do other things on Cat Bat Island, of course. People visit there primarily because it is right by the famous Ha Long Bay, which is an UNESCO World Heritage Site. You’ve probably seen it: the beautiful karst cliffs rising sheer out of beautiful blue water.

So I do a day on a boat tour around Ha Long and the waters outside of it. I kayak through some tunnels, swim with non-stinging jelly-fish, and enjoy observing the colorful boats and way of life of the people who live on the water. It is nice to be able to jump into the ocean whenever I start getting hot!

The next day, I visit a hospital cave from the Vietnam War era and then hike to a viewpoint. It’s about 45 minutes through the jungle to the viewpoint, which is about 35-more minutes than I need to get sweaty. In fact, as I near the top, it is so hot and humid that sweaty is no longer in my vocabulary. Try…drenched.

I take off my shoes and socks at the top, set my shoes aside, and squeeze my socks, wringing them out like a washcloth. You don’t want to know how much sweat comes out.

But it gets worse. I look over at my shoes and I can see a little bit of standing water in them (they’re waterproof hiking shoes, so all that sweat running down my legs had no ability to escape). I always joke that I’m the Wicked Witch of the West: i.e. melting. But I get the sudden image of the witches shoe filled with green goo (must have been in the Wizard of Oz picture book I had growing up) and suddenly the comparison seems much more apt!

This is very embarrassing. I can’t believe I’m sharing it with you.

For my own sanity, however, I have to share that I ran into three Vietnamese ladies at the lookout and while they were not as drenched as I was, they were not far off.

I also met a Vietnamese man hiking in his slides. When I found him, he was sitting on the ground, bleeding. He’d cut his foot open on the sharp karst limestone (because he was hiking in rubber slip on shoes…) so I give him my backup bandaid and continue on. When I come back down the same way, I see the bandaid wrappers lying in the middle of the trail. Culture is fascinating.

I picked them up, BTW.